


A Strange Meeting

by heartbreakholmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Meetings, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, but sherlock wants rid of his, guess who the tattoo artist is, so asks the local tattoo artist, this is bad fghjkl, to cover it up, your soulmates name is on your wrist in this universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 10:45:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10161428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartbreakholmes/pseuds/heartbreakholmes
Summary: In a world where each person is born with their soulmate's name inscribed upon their wrist, John Watson, tattoo artist, often finds himself covering them up for people. However, it seems cruel that one rather beautiful customer has not found his other half, yet still wants the word erased from his skin.





	

John's head snapped up as the door to his tattoo studio opened. The artist left his daydream to find a man of considerable height standing in the doorway, eyes flicking around the room in all directions yet avoiding him. Straightening his back in a feeble attempt to appear taller, John smiled at the handsome figure approaching the counter.

"Hello. I believe I have an appointment scheduled for 11:30?" The man asked and John was forced to make a considerable effort not to stare at his striking eyes or trace his sharp cheekbones. The owner of them was a strange creature, John thought, and very different from the studio's usual clientele of burly men and rebellious college students looking for something to do. Not many customers came into the parlour wearing what looked like a Dolce and Gabanna shirt.

John stopped thinking and nodded, searching the desk a little frantically for the notebook his assistant Mary was _supposed_ to keep beside the phone. After uncovering the paper and tracing his finger across a lined page, he made a mental note to reprimand her again for her inability to do simple tasks. He eventually found the appointment scrawled in a blot of purple ink at the back.

"Ah yes, sorry, you must be Mr. Holmes? Nice to meet you, uh, please make yourself comfortable," John said, cursing himself for his overly formal tone. He smiled in an attempt to seem less flustered to the rather beautiful and clearly posh man before him but, before he had a chance to say anything else, Mr. Holmes interrupted him.

"Oh just Sherlock, please. You are about to shove a needle into my wrist after all. No need to be so formal." The stranger had an intense gaze, one that made John feel as if every inch of his person was being scrutinised. He nodded as he walked to a chair, gesturing for his client to sit before him.

"Of course, course. Hello then, Mr- I mean... Sherlock. It's a habit of mine I'm afraid, this formality. My assistant always says I'm too uptight and clinical." He laughed nervously, conscious that Sherlock's eyes were now glued to him.

"Common trait amongst military men," he commented and John's pulse quickened slightly.

"Sorry, what? How did you... know I was in the military?"

"Simple; I deduced it. Now about my tattoo," Sherlock continued so insistently that John dropped any further questions. 

\- - -

"Well, what do you think you'd like? Surely you must have some idea what tattoo you want, this appointment has been booked for two weeks," John scoffed and Sherlock smiled, the expression touching his eyes. John felt the faint beginnings of a flutter in his chest but repressed it; he was a professional and must focus, he told himself. Besides, there was absolutely no point taking too much notice of the way the other man's eyes held so many different shades of blue.

"Honestly, I haven't considered what I want," Sherlock said. "I'm just desperate to be rid of this." He gestured to the name inscribed on his wrist and John gave a sad smile, immediately knowing what it was Sherlock wanted rid of. It wouldn't be the first cover up of this kind he'd had to do, not by any means, but it still saddened him. With a pang of longing, John's thoughts turned to the name inscribed on his own wrist.

"Are you sure?" he asked gently. "You're only, what, thirty five?" Sherlock arched an eyebrow at this and John prayed he wasn't blushing under the gaze. "There's still plenty of time to meet..." he carefully reached for Sherlock's slender wrist and read the name. _John_.

His heart skipped at least two beats as he told himself firmly not to be stupid. The name inscribed on his own skin was not Sherlock and there was no point hoping the name he had just read on the charming man's wrist was referring to a John _Watson_.

"What is the matter?" the dark haired man inquired, after John was silent for a few moments.

"Uh, nothing. Nothing. It's just funny because, well, that's my name." John glanced up and met Sherlock's eye, catching a flicker of something registering before he half snatched his wrist back and sniffed.

"Yes, well. John is a very common name."

'John' in the perfect stranger's mouth sounded so right, causing the artist's breath to hitch as he watched the letters form on the man's lips. Although the bitter tone behind it sent disappointment creeping over John's chest. "I've met many Johns in my life, several Jonathans. Even a rather... insistent Joanna." Sherlock rolled his eyes and John felt himself fall a little deeper, despite the sadness crawling across his skin.

"So you've never had anyone then?" Sherlock glanced at John, causing him to quickly rephrase the sentence. "I mean, you've never met the right one? Your soulmate, I mean."

"Well, surely I wouldn't be covering up his name if I had, would I? I see your deduction skills are not exactly advanced." John ignored the insult and nodded, chewing his lip thoughtfully.

"You don't think you'll ever find the one then?" Suddenly the room felt hotter. Sherlock was a client, a stranger in every sense, yet here John was asking him increasingly personal questions regarding his love life as if they had been close for years. He avoided the man's gaze as he waited for a reply, almost regretting his interrogation, but he waited so long it felt as if he would get no answer at all.

"No. I... I don't want to. I don't need a 'soulmate', whatever that actually _is_. The theories hardly hold any scientific credibility. It is a distraction to me - to my work. I am best off without it." John was puzzled at this.

"A distraction?" He asked, thinking Sherlock was referring to the presence of a name on his skin.

"Yes. Sentiment is a mere whim, a distraction of higher thought processes. If I wanted distractions then I would binge reality television or develop a smoking habit." There was a harshness in his voice that showed John he had conditioned himself to believe the rhetoric. By the sound of it, the man had not actively sought out his soulmate and an unusual feeling washed over him as he remembered the endless dates he had been on to find his own soulmate, and how travelling three continents while in the army was not enough to find them.

"I know it is not my place to say, Sherlock, but you should never close your heart to love. Cover up this name, if you want. Burn it from your skin but you will not erase the name from your heart, or your mind. No matter what higher thought processes are occupying it." John looked down and tugged at a loose string on his shirt sleeve. "One day you might find him. God knows I wish I could find mine." He snapped the string, tossing the end to the floor, and turned his attention to flipping a page of the tattoo book, not really looking at the designs but avoiding his client's gaze piercing gaze. Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Yes... how poetic. But I have looked long enough and if anything he will have to find me. Maybe you should do the same." John only nodded as he mulled the words over, his fingers tracing the name of his destined other half's name through his sleeve. He had a feeling Sherlock was doing this because he believed he wouldn't find 'John'. Many clients had behaved in similar ways but he never felt quite as determined to stop them as he did with this particular one.

"What is her name, anyway?" Sherlock asked, eyes dropping to John's hands. The question evoked a flush of the artist's cheeks.

"Oh no, it's a-"

"Of course. I should have seen." Sherlock's eyes swept over John, surveying him."What is his name?" He corrected.

John sniffed for no reason at all and shrugged, still flicking through designs.

"William." He flexed his fingers and stood up, moving towards the tattoo machine in the corner where the latex gloves and alcohol rub were kept. "I've met a few but none were right in the end. Turns out they all had someone else's name on _their_ wrist anyway, but that's the way it goes. Can only keep hoping. Not that I would cover the name up just because..." he realised he had been rambling for slightly too long and turned to see his client standing behind him, an intense but unreadable expression contorting his features.

"Oh, wasn't expecting you to stand up. We're not ready, you haven't picked a design yet." Having Sherlock so close was a little hard to bear and he felt his pulse quicken. "Uh, sit down in the chair and keep looking, or something, maybe I can just sketch a design you'd like-"

"John."

"Yeah?" His breathing quickened at the sound of his name on Sherlock's lips once more and there was nothing he could do to resist dropping his eyes to them.

"Show me your wrist." Confused, John pulled the cuff of his shirt up, revealing the trails of the tattoos that were part of a colourful sleeve, as well as the 'William' faintly inscribed upon his wrist. He hoped this man that seemed so observant could not deduce how fast his heart was beating but, knowing his luck, the man would probably hear it and laugh.

The almost-stranger's fingers were cool as they traced John's wrist and it felt nice, almost like John had been waiting for it to happen. It was a strange action but he didn't question the motives or the sudden softness behind the movements.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes." The man said the name with a gentle smile, his thumb stroking John's skin delicately.

"I-I'm sorry?" John's heart skipped again, bounding ahead of his brain which was much slower in terms of comprehension.

"That's the whole of it." Bright eyes locked onto his own and a realisation struck him.

"Wait, William is your first name? And Sherlock is-"

"My second, preferred name. But my mother only ever calls me Billy." Sherlock smiled, his expression faltering as his fingers intertwined experimentally with John's.

"I don't... how can it be? What are the chances, Sherlock... William... _Billy_?" John asked, exasperated. So many names but only one person that mattered.

"I don't know, but you told me he would find me. Ironic the one that told me is quite literally The One." He paused, looking at John fondly. "I never believed in coincidences yer here I am to erase a name off my wrist... one that belongs to the actual tattooist I was hoping would do it, it seems."

"No."

"No?"

"Yes, it's my name, but you are no longer here to erase it."

Sherlock shook his head slowly and John admired the way dark curls fell around the man's face while longing to reach forward and run his hands through them. He didn't; there would surely be time for it in the future but he couldn't think about that right now.

"I suppose you are right. And I do find myself resenting it significantly less at this moment, I should like to keep it for now - but my appointment is surely going to waste." John opened his mouth to protest, to say finding each other and having a chance at love was not a waste, but was interrupted once more.

"How about lunch?" Sherlock asked, a little hesitantly. "I know a lovely little place not too far from here that we could go to. Angelo's, it's called. I know the owner, actually. Helped him out a few times in the past."

John stared with what looked like disbelief, earning a frown from the man who was still holding his hand with a light touch. "Angelo's? You are joking?" John asked, dropping his new found soulmate's hand and leaning back against his workspace. His eyes searched Sherlock's confused expression, but found no signs of amusement.

"Joking? I _rarely_ joke, John-"

"Angelo is my Uncle." John shook his head and chuckled. Sherlock realised just how close they had come to crossing paths in the past before dissolving into soft laughter. John joined in, disbelieving that for so long he had waited for a William when all along he should have been searching for the handsome man grinning before him, ready to take him to lunch; a man with the name Sherlock Holmes.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading this cliché thing, i hope you at least liked it a little bit! i wanted to write something to cheer me up after series four


End file.
